The Farce

1

Just being born in a Rajput family doesn’t make one a warrior—just as taking the surname ‘Singh’ doesn’t automatically make a person valiant. Doubtless, Gajendra Singh’s ancestors once belonged to the Rajput clan; however, for the last three generations, the only thing Rajput about them had been their name.

Gajendra Singh’s grandfather had practised as a lawyer and sometimes the Rajput spirit did show in his courtroom performances. Gajendra’s father opened a cloth shop and lowered the family name a few more notches down the masculinity scale. With Gajendra, the last remaining fragile puff of bravery got lost in the air. Even the physical appearances of these three men showed their devolution. Bhupendra Singh didn’t have a massive chest, Narendra Singh had a massive belly and there was absolutely nothing massive about Gajendra Singh. He was a thin, light-skinned, fragile and fashionable babu. His interests lay more in literature.

But then, however non-Rajput a Rajput might be, he will always marry into the Rajput clan. Gajendra’s in-laws still retained their Rajputness: his father-in-law was a retired subedar and his brothers-in-law were hunters and wrestlers. Gajendra had been married for two years now, but he had not visited his in-laws even once. His examinations had kept him too busy. But now that his studies were over and he was looking for a job, when he received an invitation from his in-laws to celebrate Holi with them, Gajendra accepted the invitation willingly. The subedar knew a number of people at high positions; besides, people respected army officers and didn’t usually turn down their recommendations. Gajendra hoped that his father-in-law’s word would guarantee him a good government job. Moreover, he had not seen his wife, Shyamdulari, in over a year. Going to his in-laws for the holidays would be like scoring two targets with one shot. He got a new silk coat stitched and went to his in-laws a day before Holi. It was only when he stood before his brothers-in-law that he realized how small he looked, almost like a child.

It was evening and Gajendra was bragging to his brothers-in-law about his exploits as a student: he had tackled tall, godly white classmates on the football field and scored hockey goals all alone, and so on and so forth when the subedar suddenly presented himself and said to his elder son: ‘Why are you wasting your time with gossip? The gentleman has come from the city; take him to the woods for a stroll. Show him a little hunting. There are no theatre shows here. He will be easily bored. It’s the right time of the day. If you leave now, you can return by nightfall.’

The word ‘hunting’ made Gajendra Singh feel so depressed, it was as if the heavens had fallen on his head. The poor fellow had never hunted all his life. He wondered where these village brats would lead him; and if a wild animal showed up all of a sudden, what would he do? Even deer could turn violent, couldn’t they? Say if they found no escape and charged at the hunter? And if a wolf showed up, that was it! He said, ‘I am extremely tired, and in no mood for hunting at all.’

The subedar ordered, ‘Sit on the horse, boy. These are the simple pleasures of rural life. Chunnu, go get my gun; I will accompany you. I haven’t gone out for several days. Get my rifle too.’

Chunnu and Munnu ran to get the weapons and Gajendra’s life force shrivelled. He repented having started a conversation with the boys. Had he known what he was putting himself into, he would have feigned illness on reaching the village and remained in bed all through the vacation. Now he couldn’t make any excuses. The biggest worry now was of getting on the horse. Rustic horses were anyway unruly and when they discovered that they were being mounted by an inexperienced rider, they pushed their antics to the maximum. What would he do if the horse went feral on him and ran into a ditch, he wondered.

His brothers-in-law returned with the gun and a horse snorting at the end of a rope. Subedar sahib was dressed in his hunter’s costume. Now Gajendra had no option. He looked at the horse through a corner of his eye—it beat its hooves, neighed, and raised its mane and its red eyes, haughty demeanour and rippling muscles like living pieces of steak—it made his soul escape through his nose. His heart was sinking but just to retain his false honour, Gajendra walked to the horse, slapped it on the neck and like a seasoned horse rider, said, ‘This is a magnificent beast, but I couldn’t possibly ride it while all of you walked. I’m not too tired. I’ll walk with you.’

The subedar said, ‘Son, the forest is a long way off. The walk might tire you. The horse is very naive: even children can ride it.’

Gajendra replied, ‘No, sir, let’s walk. Lively conversation will make the miles seem short. Riding the horse will rob me of this pleasure. You’re our senior, why don’t you ride the horse?’

The four men walked. Gajendra’s politeness charmed everyone. Only city folk know the rules of good conduct, his companions thought.

After a little while, the road turned stony. On one side of the path was an open field and on the other, a hill rose steeply. Trees of all shapes and colours stood in discipline on the roadside. Subedar sahib narrated the old, oft-repeated battle stories. Gajendra tried to walk fast but kept falling behind the rest of the company. And then he would run to catch up with them. He sweated and huffed and constantly cursed his foolishness. Why did he have to come to this God-forsaken place? Shyamdulari could have returned home in two or three months anyway; what possessed me to run like a wild dog in an unknown forest, he thought. And this is just the beginning; I don’t know what’ll happen when they see a prey. I can run a mile or two but when the hunting actually begins . . . my God, I will be reduced to mincemeat! I might faint. Already my feet have stopped following my mind.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on a simal (cotton) tree. The ground was covered in a sheet of red flowers and above, the tree was in full bloom. Gajendra stood below and gazed at the tree with ecstasy.

Chunnu asked, ‘What is it, brother-in-law? Why have you stopped?’

Gajendra spoke like a man drugged, ‘Nothing; it’s just that the sight of this magnificent tree has made my heart overflow with happiness. Ah, the breeze, the glimmer, the splendour—it’s as if the forest Goddess has worn a red bridal suit to entice the evening sky, as if the souls of holy men have stopped here for a while, as if the music of nature has materialized into this bewitching scene! Please continue with the hunt while I bask in the majesty of this moment.’

Gajendra’s young brothers-in-law stared at him in surprise. What was the gentleman saying? Being children of the wilderness, a simal tree meant nothing to them; they saw it every day, climbed its branches, played beneath it, played ball with its flowers—they had never felt anything even remotely close to this feeling. But then they were village folk; what did they know about the appreciation of beauty?

Seeing the other men stop, the subedar sahib walked up to them and asked, ‘Why did you stop, son?’

He joined his hands and said, ‘Please forgive me, but I can’t accompany you on the hunt. Seeing this shower of flowers, a strange ecstasy has overtaken me: my soul is enmeshed in the music of the heavens. See, it’s my own heart that has transformed into a flower. There is a similar redness, a similar beauty, a similar nectar in it. A cloak of ignorance covers my mind now. Who should we hunt? Innocent animals? We are animals too and we are birds—it is in the mirror of our imagination that these beings take shape. Should we kill ourselves? Please carry on without me, let me sink deep into this extraordinary wave of feelings. No, not just that, I humbly request you, beseech you to refrain yourselves from the hunt. Life is a treasure trove of happiness—don’t murder it. Open your mind’s eyes to the scene around you. The light of happiness sparkles in each atom, each flower, each leaf. Do not contaminate it with murder.’

This philosophical discourse touched everyone. The subedar lowered his voice and said to Chunnu, ‘This boy is young in years and still so full of wisdom!’

Chunnu too expressed his admiration, ‘Truly, wisdom does awaken the soul: hunting is wrong.’

The subedar spoke with the wisdom of age, ‘Yes, it is indeed cruel. Let’s return. When one is capable of seeing oneself in all things, who is the hunter and who the hunted? I will never hunt again.’

He turned to Gajendra. ‘Brother, your advice has opened our eyes. We are ready to swear a solemn oath never to hunt again.’

The spirit of ecstasy cloaked Gajendra so densely that he said in a voice filled with intoxication, ‘A thousand thanks to God! He has opened your eyes. I can’t tell you what a great connoisseur of sport I was. I must have killed hundreds of wild boars, deer, nilgais and crocodiles—even a cheetah. But the wisdom of age has convinced me to leave all of it behind.’

2

The time of burning the holi was nine at night. At eight all the villagers made their way to the ground. Subedar sahib took his children and the guest along to watch the burning.

Gajendra had never attended Holi festivities in a village before. In his city people lit bonfires which burnt for days. Here, the holi stood in the centre of a large field, tall like a mountain talking to the sky. As soon as the priest completed his chants to welcome the new year, crackers went up in the air. The young and the old began to burst crackers and rockets. A rocket went flying over Gajendra’s head. At the sound of every cracker, Gajendra moved back a few steps and in his mind, he cursed the rustic yokels. This was foolish daredevilry—let a cracker set someone’s clothes on fire and then they will understand! Accidents from fire crackers are pretty common but what do these fools know? Blind followers of tradition! They will do things exactly as their grandfathers did, even if there is absolutely no merit in it.

Suddenly a bomb went off, almost tearing the sky to bits. Gajendra jumped almost two feet in the air with shock; he must never have jumped so high in all his life. His heart beat fast and he felt as if he was standing with his chest at the mouth of a canon. He cupped his ears and went back two more steps.

Chunnu asked, ‘Brother-in-law, do you want to light one?’

Munnu said, ‘Light a rocket, brother-in-law. You can light the bombs, brother.’

Chunnu said, ‘Children light rockets; is he a child? The bomb’s better suited for you, Bhai Sahib.’

Gajendra responded, ‘These things do not excite me. You know it fills me with shock and wonder to see adults participating in the fireworks with such zest.’

Munnu replied, ‘Arré, light a few mahtabs please.’

Gajendra considered the proposition and finally decided that mahtabs were innocent enough. He thought that in the red, green and golden flare of the mahtabs his own fair face, gorgeous hair and silk kurta would glow in a more resplendent light. There was nothing to be afraid of anyway! He held the firework in his hand, the sparks fell like petals and everyone’s eyes were on him. Even his rational mind took a back seat, unable to resist the temptation. He made a show of extreme sadness and received the mahtab with a limp hand. He was about to light it when a bomb went off. The sky shuddered. Gajendra felt as if his eardrums had split, as if someone had taken a hammer to his head. The mahtab fell from his hand and his heart began thumping. He hadn’t got over his first shock when a second bomb went off. The sky splintered, a thudding filled the atmosphere, birds flew from their nests screaming in agony, animals strained at their tethers, and Gajendra ran with long strides—his feet flying to his head—and stopped only when he reached home. Chunnu and Munnu were both concerned. The subedar sahib almost lost his senses. The three men ran behind Gajendra. The rest of the audience thought that something had gone terribly wrong and followed them—after all, rarely did such an eminent guest come to the village and if anything had befallen him, it was the shame and sorrow of the entire community. Each person asked the other—what has happened to the guest? Why are the people running?

Within moments, a sizeable crowd had gathered outside subedar sahib’s house to ask about the well-being of the guest. The son-in-law of the village might be a snob, a boring philosopher; yet, he was a son-in-law and naturally, deserved all their love.

The subedar asked with concern, ‘Why did you run, brother?’

Gajendra had no way of knowing that his hasty retreat would cause such a scene. However, his orderly mind was already working on a response—a response so overwhelming that it would convince the villagers to look at him in an entirely new light.

He said, ‘Nothing special—something struck my heart, making it impossible for me to remain on the grounds any longer.’

‘No, there should be some concrete reason,’ said the subedar.

‘Why do you ask—and what is the point of asking? I don’t want to make my fears explicit and deprive you of the joy of festivities.’

‘Son, I can’t rest in peace until you tell us what’s troubling you. The entire village is in panic.’

Gajendra made a beatific face like a Sufi saint, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, looked at the sky, and said, ‘As soon as I took the mahtab in my hand, I felt as if someone had snatched it from me. I have never lit a firework: indeed, I have been one of its strongest critics. Today, I did something which my conscience doesn’t agree with. That was it, the unthinkable happened! I felt as if my soul was cursing me. My head bent in shame and I couldn’t remain standing any longer. Please forgive me but I won’t be able to participate in your revelry.’

Subedar turned his head to one side and sighed as if the mystery had been revealed to no one but him. When he finally broke the silence, it was as if he spoke through his eyes: ‘Have you understood his words? How can you when I myself can understand it only dimly?’

The idol was burnt at the scheduled time but they dumped the remaining firecrackers in the river, save a few which the younger boys stored to burn after Gajendra had left.

When they were together, Shyamdulari said, ‘You ran like a hero!’

To which Gajendra replied, ‘I didn’t. What could have frightened me?’

‘I was scared that something untoward had happened. I followed you as fast as I could. Do you know that they threw away the remaining crackers?’

‘It’s simply a waste of money!’

‘What’s Holi without the fireworks? If the boys don’t have fun during a festival, when else can they have fun?’

It was twelve at night then. Someone knocked on the door. Gajendra sat upright in fear. ‘Who’s there?’

Shyama was nonchalant. ‘Could be a cat or something.’

But there were the voices of a number of men and then a clanking on the latch. A shiver shot through Gajendra’s spine. He lit the lantern and peeked through the keyhole to see . . . a group of burly men in kurtas and shaggy beards, turbans on their heads and guns slung on their shoulders trying to break down the door. He put his ear to the door and listened—

‘They must both be asleep. Break down the door. The stuff is in the closet.’

‘And if they wake up?’

‘What can the woman do? And if the man creates a scene, we will tie him to the bed.’

‘They say that Gajendra is a famous wrestler.’

‘Oh, come on! Can he fight four armed men?’

Gajendra was so drained with fear that if a knife passed through him, no blood would seep out of his body!

He said to Shyamdulari, ‘They sound like dacoits. What will we do now? My hands and feet are shivering!’

‘Yell “thief thief ” and everyone will wake up. Or wait, let me scare them. It’s said that thieves have only half a heart.’

‘Don’t do anything reckless. All of them have guns. And why is it so silent? Where have the men gone?’

‘Brother and Munnudada have gone to the granary to sleep. Uncle must be nearby, but he is a heavy sleeper. Burst a cannon near his head and he won’t wake up.’

‘There’s no window to let our voices out. Is this a room or a prison?’

‘Wait, let me shout.’

‘No, no! Why are you so intent on killing yourself? Listen, I think we should shut our eyes and remain silent. Let the rascals take whatever they want, at least our lives will be safe. My God, the door is shaking! Good Lord! What should we do? Look down on us with mercy, oh Lord! Had I known that something like this would happen, I’d never have come! Be silent! Even if they shake you, don’t respond.’

‘I can’t do this any longer.’

‘Take off your jewellery. That’s what they are after.’

‘Oh, I won’t take off my jewellery come what may!’

‘Why are you bent on giving away your life, woman?’

‘Let them tear the pearls from my body if they want to.’

‘Wait, wait! Let’s listen to what they are saying.’

A voice came from outside: ‘Open the door or we will break in.’

Gajendra requested Shyamdulari, ‘Listen to me, Shyama: take off your ornaments. I will get new ones made as soon as possible.’

Again, the voices came from outside. ‘Are you dead? We give you only one minute’s time. If you don’t let us in, we will bring hell.’

Gajendra asked Shyamdulari, ‘Should I open the door?’

‘Yes, lay out a red carpet for them. Put your weight against the door, you fool!’

‘And if the door falls on me? There are as many as five able-bodied men.’

‘There’s a staff on the wall. Arm yourself.’

‘Have you gone crazy?’

‘Had Chunnidada been here, he would have faced all five of them alone.’

‘I am not a stick fighter.’

‘Come, hide your face under the sheets then. I will handle them.’

‘They will let you off, woman. The sticks will fall on my head.’

‘I can scream.’

‘Now I understand. You want me dead!’

‘I can’t take this any longer. I am opening the door.’

She did so and the five men rushed in. One said to his companion, ‘I will hold the man. Remove the woman’s ornaments.’

The second one said, ‘He has shut his eyes. Oye, open your eyes.’

The third goon replied, ‘Boy, the lady is really pretty!’

The fourth man replied, ‘Listen, princess, give me your necklace or I will slit your throat.’

Gajendra thought, Why does the bitch not hand over her jewellery?

Shyamdulari said, ‘Strangle or shoot me, I won’t surrender my jewels.’

The first man said, ‘Let’s carry her off. She won’t give up so easily; besides, the temple is empty now.’

The second man replied, ‘Seems like a good plan. Girl, do you want to come with us?’

Shyamdulari said, ‘Not before I mangle your jaw.’

‘If you don’t come with us, we’ll take your man and sell him off,’ said the third man.

Shyamdulari replied, ‘I will see handcuffs on all of you,’ to which the fourth goon said, ‘Why do you take offence, my queen? Why don’t you come with us? Are we worse than this weakling? If you fight, we will have to carry you off by force. To tell the truth, we don’t want to use force against a pretty little girl like you.’

The fifth man said, ‘Surrender your ornaments or come with us.’

Shyamdulari replied, ‘Let Uncle come, he will peel the skin off your backs.’

The first man responded, ‘She won’t listen to kind words. Let’s carry him off.’

Two men bound Gajendra’s hands and feet with the bed sheet. He stood like a corpse, not daring to breathe and his mind felt as if it had been tossed into a blender—reckless woman, she won’t part with her jewels at the cost of my life! But if I live, let her see. I won’t even talk to her.

The dacoits lifted Gajendra and had just reached the courtyard when Shyamdulari said, ‘If you let him off, I will come with you.’

The first man now said, ‘Why didn’t you say so earlier? Are you sure now?’

Shyamdulari replied, ‘Yes.’

‘Come then. We will let him off.’

They put Gajendra on the bed and started to leave with Shyamdulari. Gajendra opened his eyes in fear. There was no one around. He peeped out of the door. He flew like an arrow and reached the main gate but didn’t have the courage to walk out of it. He thought of calling out for the subedar but his throat was parched.

At about the same time, five women came to Shyamdulari’s room and the first one asked, ‘Where is he?’

Shyamdulari replied, ‘He must have gone outside.’

The second woman asked, ‘Do you think he is ashamed?’

The third woman said, ‘We knocked the wind out of his lungs!’

When Gajendra heard the voices, he felt life entering him. Someone must have woken up, he thought. He rushed into his room and said, ‘Please look for Shyama. She left while I was sleeping. Let somebody look for her immediately.’

When all the ladies burst into spontaneous laughter, he was surprised.

Shyama’s friends laughed and clapped.

One of them said, ‘Such bravery, brother-in-law!’

Shyamdulari seemed to find it rather humorous. ‘You are such devils!’

The third woman said, ‘Your wife left with the dacoits and you didn’t even stir.’

Gajendra realized that they had made a fool of him. But he still possessed the tongue of a tiger. So, he said, ‘What could I do? Should I have interrupted your little farce? I was enjoying myself. Had I caught you and pulled off your moustaches, wouldn’t you have been shamed? I am not so cruel, after all.’

All of them went silent and stared at Gajendra with incredulity.

Translated from the Hindi by Shalim M. Hussain